His Rock
by graciemay94
Summary: A one-shot, set at the very beginning of Series 3 in Alex's 80s hospital room. Galex. Dedicated to anyone still watching and still in love with this show.


**Hey! I don't even know if there is anyone out there reading Ashes fan fiction anymore, but I've recently been rewatching and reading and re-reading fics is keeping me sane. I can't believe its been 6 years since it began, and not far off 4 since it ended. I have no idea where time has gone and thats pretty scary! I hope there are still die-hard fans out there that will join me in keeping this show as alive as possible, I fully intend on showing it to my hypothetical children in 30 years time and I doubt it will have lost its place in my heart even then. Anyway, I'll stop being all mushy and let you read. I literally popped this out in the past couple of hours whilst being bed-bound all day watching my box sets, so its un-beta'd and very rough around the edges but bear with the short sentences and any errors, I haven't written in years! Its a one-shot but there's definitely scope for more if I fancy it. **

**Much Ashes love to all those still out there! x**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this show or its characters.**

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"Bolls," He stepped into the room, the sight before him causing a pain he'd only once experienced before. The feeling of gut-wrenching guilt as if someone had stabbed him with a hot poker straight through the heart, causing a burning sensation to ripple through him. He was rarely speechless but he was suddenly struggling for breath. In fact, this was probably worse than _actually_ being stabbed with a poker, for he was in fact here, alive, having to face the consequences of what he'd done to her. He'd felt like this 3 months ago, the day he did it. What he'd have done for it to be the other way round, for him to be lying there in a pool of his own blood, not her. He'd never forgive himself.

Now she was here, in a hospital bed, attached to god-knows-what machines that were helping to keep her alive. To see his normally so strong DI like this was heart wrenching enough. To know he'd done it, he'd put her there, was even worse. "Bolly," He finally remembered how to walk, and took a step closer. He was almost afraid to get too close for fear of hurting her again. Why was he even here? He shook his head, running his glove-clad hands through his hair. 3 months he'd been on the run for, bloody shitty Isle of Wight. Took enough time for him to realise that Gene Hunt does not run from people, other people run from _him._ But he couldn't do this without her; he _needed_ her to help him. God forbid she ever heard him say that or he'd never live it down. How could he walk into CID knowing that she wasn't there, instead she was battling between life and death _alone_ in a hospital room. She wouldn't be there to rattle on about psychiatry bollocks, or enter his office without knocking, or waggle her bony arse in his direction every once in a while. He couldn't go back without her, so where else could he go apart from the hospital?

He was by her bedside now, his eyes darting from her expressionless face to the drip in her arm to the hospital gown that was covering her wound. Where he'd shot her. He shook his head, he shouldn't be here. Shit. He leant against the wall, fighting the urge to shout and take his anger out on the dreadful inanimate objects in the room. A couple of 'get well soon' cards were placed on her bedside table, along with now half-dead flowers and her ID card. He took it, opening it and studying her photo. Even in a terrible passport photo she looked good, he had to admit it. So full of life, such a shockingly awful comparison to what she looked like now. His eyes painfully turned back to her as he placed the ID card back on the table.

"Come on Bolly-kecks, wake up." He said it quietly at first, as if she was asleep and he didn't want to wake her too abruptly. With no reaction - hell, did he really expect a reaction? – he turned the volume up. "Drakey, wake. Now." Still nothing. "Bolls, it's been 3 bleedin' months and I know yer a lazy tart but this is taking the piss now," He began to stride up and down the length of the bed. "I can't go in there without you, I can't do this on my own so you better bloody wake up," He ran his hands through his hair as he walked. "Its you an' me, Bolls. I know it is, we're a team. You need to wake up so we can go back to what we do best," He stopped by her head, staring deep into her unconscious face. "You an' me. Starsky and Hutch. Cagney and Lacey, not that I'm a girl. Enos and Rosco. Ponch and Jon," He was exasperated. "Wake up Bollinger-knickers!" He shouted it, grabbing her shoulders. If he wasn't Gene Hunt he'd probably have been crying by now. This was frustrating, he'd shot her and she wasn't waking up. Why the hell did it have to end like this? What were his last words to her? 'I swear to God I will kill you'? Shit. He hadn't meant that. Yet if he could redo those last words what the hell would he say? Gene Hunt was not good with words unless they were those suitable for a 15+ audience. He almost laughed; he hadn't quite felt like this before. Not even with the ex-Mrs. How can one woman give him so much torment even when unconscious? Torment on so many levels; guilt, fear, irritation, and a worryingly deep sense of care. No, Gene Hunt does not _care. _Jesus Christ, bloody women.

"Bloody hell Drakey what have you done to me? I'm a mess, Bolls. A rotten, bloody mess. How'd I let you do this? Get inside my head… my heart. Shit. You need to wake up. Now." He shook her by the shoulders, his own words of admittance scaring him. "Wake up!" He shook her more violently before throwing her shoulders back down onto the bed, turning away in frustration with his hands on his head.

It was then he heard a draw of breath. He shot around like a bullet – shit, bad metaphor – to see her stirring, her head now facing sideways.

"Bolls, Bolly, Alex?!" He shouted, leaning closer. Her eyes flickered open, straining in the bright light. His face came into view as he leaned over her. "About bloody time!" He proclaimed as she groaned in frustration, closing her eyes as the situation dawned on her. "Get yer coat, we've got scum to catch." She groaned again as he started to collect her things up.

He knew he needed her for police work, but in reality he needed her for so much more than that. He'd never admit it, though, not even fully to himself. In the past fifteen minutes that he'd been in her hospital room he'd had thoughts that had _almost _scared him – for Gene Hunt doesn't get scared. He'd realised that she meant a lot to him, more than the others. They all meant something to him; Ray, Chris, Shaz, Viv… Sam. But Alex was different; he would go to the end of the earth for her. Clearly he'd be shit at it though, who pulls a trigger on someone that means that much to them? She probably didn't even want to see him now. Why had he bothered coming, thought he could just pick her up and they'd waltz back into CID like nothing was wrong? Bollocks. Things were going to be very different now and he was going to do some terrific saving of his own arse to make this all work. Make CID work, and make _them_ work. They both knew they needed each other, however things would work out. He was her rock, and she was his.


End file.
